What a world we live in
by TheMarauder1967
Summary: Lily Evans on Sirius Black, self-proclaimed prank extraordinaire (the Marauders at Hogwarts told through Lily's friendship with Sirius)
Lily on _Sirius Black,_ self-claimed prank extraordinaire

The world doesn't end with fire or ice or smoke or a huge explosion. It ends with a flash of green light and then nothing. It ends how it began; with nothing. But somehow, the world still keeps going even once it's ended. It keeps spinning and spinning until we're all dizzy with it and there's nothing we can do but fall to the ground laughing.

I first saw you across a train platform when I was eleven and you were still shorter than me. You won't remember, but you told me how to get onto the platform, whilst your mother scowled. _Run straight there¸_ you told me, and pointed. I don't know why I didn't tell you that you were insane. I would now, if I didn't know what I know.

Your hair was as black as your name. _My soul,_ you used to joke. _My hair is as black as my soul._ We didn't pick up on it but you hated your name. You hated your name because it reminded you of your family. I never met your family, but from what I overheard, they weren't nice people. Your mother screamed and your father scowled and the one piece of sanity you had- your brother- didn't understand what the term _good_ meant.

Your hair was black and your family was horrid, and for a minute, I thought you were going to be just like them.

You winked at me in the corridor, when James asked me out time and time again. You winked at me like it was some huge game when Peter laughed at you taking Severus' trousers off. You winked at me when I answered a question in class, like it was all some huge joke to you. Everything was a joke to you, Sirius. It took me five years and a lot of fire whisky to realise that if you hadn't made it a joke, it would have broken your heart.

In second year, I was partnered with Remus for a potions assignment. He was all light brown hair- almost blonde, really- and lanky limbs that he didn't know what to do with and scars. He had a long one down his arm that looked like he'd been attacked by a rabid animal. He told me there was a loose nail in his chest and he'd scraped it on that. I didn't believe him. I didn't believe anything he said because he was friends with you.

Being friends with you, Sirius, was like being friends with James Potter. The pair of you ruled the school, you liked to think. With your pranking and your talking back and the way you called McGonagall _Minnie_ like she was your friend annoyed me to no end. And her as well, judging by the amount of detentions you received. Your head was bigger than your reputation.

In third year, James Potter asked me out for the hundredth time. You laughed, and held your hand out to him, and he handed you ten galleons. I frowned and asked _why?_ You laughed harder, winked once, and told me that you knew I wouldn't give in. You knew James could ask a hundred times and I still wouldn't give in.

That was the first time I was tempted to say _yes._

In fourth year, you were finally taller than me. I was fourteen and you came back from the summer break with heartbreak in your eyes and a scar on your cheek. You told everyone it came from fighting an army of ants with a spear- something you used to say about Remus, as well- and I didn't believe you. I saw your smile fade when everyone turned away, and I saw you stop being able to turn everything into a joke.

The first family of muggleborn wizards died less than a month after we'd been back at school, and you left the Gryffindor table. In the middle of breakfast. You pushed your hair back from your eyes- you needed a haircut- and left. James stood up to follow you, glasses askew and Peter put a hand out to stop him. _He doesn't need us,_ Peter said, _he needs him._

But the boy with the hair as black as _his_ name from the Slytherin table didn't stand up to follow you. He didn't even look.

Fourth year wasn't fun. Fourth year it started to sink in that I was hated. Fourth year I lost my best friend, and all you could do was wink.

 _Mudblood._

And then, suddenly, you weren't the _winker,_ or the _prat with the even more stupid hair than James Potter._

You were _Sirius._ You didn't have a surname, because it always made you flinch. I saw you write _Potter_ once, though. On a transfiguration essay- one of the few that you actually did. You rubbed it out before McGonagall could see, but I always knew.

You were _the guy with the nice smile._ The one that laughed when I told my story about nearly accidentally setting my house on fire when I was eleven and didn't know what magic was. The one that took me aside and got me ice cream from the kitchens, the word _mudblood_ still ringing in my ears. You were Sirius, and you no longer made everything a joke.

In fifth year, my sister sent me a letter back unopened on her birthday. You showed me how to play Wizard poker, and I lost all my money to you. You bought me fire whisky, and I got drunk for the first time with no sister. You got drunk for the millionth time with no family. You laughed when I tried to make you revise for exams instead of pranking Snape. You scowled when I told you about the time Petunia called me a freak, and you gradually started pulling me closer to Remus and Peter and James. James still asked me out, and Remus still only saw me as a revision buddy, but you laughed like I was wrong when I confessed I felt I didn't belong.

In fifth year, Snape called me a mudblood again, and insulted Regulus. You never said which one it was that made you do it, but you did it anyway. You were angry, more angry than I'd ever seen you, and you didn't speak to me for three weeks. You didn't speak to Potter either, or Remus or Peter. Remus didn't speak to anyone for five days, and I had no idea what was going on.

You were nearly expelled. James was nearly expelled, and Snape hated you even more. He glared at me when I sat with Remus. I glared back, because the word _mudblood_ is not something you say to a friend. It shouldn't be something you say to anyone.

 _It's not you, Lils._ Remus had told me, when I'd cornered him and demanded what was going on, _it's me._ He'd shaken his head, as if to remind himself of something, _its him._ Hed shaken it again, _it's all of us._

 _This isn't a divorce,_ I'd told Remus, a joking tone in my voice that didn't match the concern in my eyes. It was then that I decided that I never wanted to see Remus alone again.

Three months later, I knew why.

I didn't talk to you for a week, and it took your mother finally disowning you for me to acknowledge you again.

You moved into the Potters' that summer. I came and visited you twice.

I was sixteen, and you were taller than me. You had no name and hair as black as your soul. You brought me firewhisky and I brought you ice cream and I met your new parents. You still called them Mr and Mrs Potter, but they called you _son._

The first time I visited you, you made me play quidditch with you. You were surprised when I was good, and told me I should try for the team. I had laughed, and James had lifted a cigarette to his mouth, and Peter had watched us from the ground where he was playing exploding snap with Remus. Your hair was too long but your eyes were beginning to grow light again.

The second time I visited, we went for a walk. James lagged behind, complaining because he didn't want to be there, and it was awkward. It wasn't relaxed and there was something you weren't telling me and I still don't know what it was, even now. I met James' parents and they ask if I'm your girlfriend, but you fix them with a look and mouth something about _James_ and that you'll _tell them later._ They nod, and greet me as though I were a long lost daughter.

When we returned, I was a prefect and the world was ending. Four of my friends came back to school without a family. Dorcas screamed into her pillow that she wanted her parents back, and Mary clung on that much tighter when I hugged her. Marlene kissed Remus and Remus kissed her back, and Marlene cried because she'd lost her brother.

For my birthday, you gave me tickets to go and see _The Beatles,_ because I always talked about them. You thought I meant the bugs, and we bunked off school to go to an insect zoo. I wore my _John Lennon_ t shirt and you've never looked so apologetic in your life.

In sixth year, you wink at me again. I raise my hand in class, and answer a question, and you wink. I wink back and it feels like we're making our own joke. One for the two of us. Severus Snape tries to talk to me, and I call him Snivellus, and you high five me. You wrap your arm around me when we saunter back to the common room and tell me your proud of me.

We get drunk one night and I tell you that I may have lost a sister, but I gained a brother.

You kiss my forehead, and tell me that you'd do anything to protect me.

Someone tries to hex me the next week, and you get four detentions in a row for punching them square in the jaw. Peter asks you, slightly awestruck, if you're in love with me or something, and Remus snorts. James scowls, and Remus smiles like he knows something everyone else doesn't.

Gryffindor win the last quidditch game that term and James hugs me before he hugs you. He looks embarrassed after he does it, but then your loud presence is there and he looks okay again. He doesn't ask me out, this time, as he has done for the past three wins Gryffindor have had.

We go home for Easter, and you meet my parents wearing a leather jacket and holding a bunch of flowers. James stands behind you, glasses wonky and running a hand ever-so-coolly through his hair. My mum blinks, and asks if you're brothers, and neither of you hesitated before you nodded.

When we go back to school, James asks me out again.

I say no without even thinking, and complain to you later. You don't say anything, but you look disappointed when you leave. I tell you that he doesn't think about anyone's feelings but his own, and I'm so angry it _hurts_ and before you leave you ask me something that I never thought you would be perceptive enough to see.

 _I hate him._

 _Nah you don't. Why do you care?_

I tell myself I don't, and nothing changes.

I pass my exams- _of course you did, you utter twat,_ you tell me- and we, all eight of us, go shopping for school supplies. You leave me in the pet shop with James because everyone else is getting ice creams. He buys me an owl and I name it _Shiver_ because it keeps quaking. She's white and pure, and we have to leave early because there's an attack.

We get separated, the six of you and the two of us and only find each other when we give up looking and return to James', shaking and pale faced. Shiver is perched on my shoulder, and for some reason, she's not shaking anymore. You wrap your arms around me and kiss my hair, before pulling James into a hug so tight it must hurt.

Dorcas fell awkwardly trying to get away and twister her ankle, and Peter and you carried her back here. You tell me you're a hero and I don't doubt you for one second. Remus clutches tightly to Marlene's hand and Mary quietly stares at the floor. _It's real,_ she whispers, and all I can do is agree.

We get spectacularly drunk, and end up skinny dipping in the lake by James' house in the early hours of the following morning. We laugh far too much for teenagers who have just seen so much horror, and I've never felt more like I belong.

I get a letter telling me I'm Head Girl, and then one three minutes later from you, telling me that there's been a mixup and for some reason, James is Head Boy. You congratulate me without even knowing I got it and I love you for how much faith you have in me. For reasons I don't think about, I don't regret spending the year with James.

Regulus drops out of school. You don't know until the welcome feast when Snape informs you, in a cold, harsh manner that has James glaring and starting out of his seat. You don't say anything but drop your head into your hands and down your goblet of Pumpkin juice like its nothing. Snape turns to me, nods and tries to talk but James glares some more. _You say anything you worthless piece of shit_.

Snape turns and walks away, ever so cocky now that he's broken Sirius. I ask if you're alright and you wink.

It breaks my heart.

I go to meetings every Friday with James, in our new common room that's built itself off of the edge of the Gryffindor tower, and you sometimes come and sit in on them. We talk about the death eaters and the impending rise of Voldemort, and what it means for the rest of the word. You show me a map that shows me everyone, and James and I no longer go on patrol.

We sit and talk and you realise before I do that I don't hate him anymore.

 _I like to watch her go,_ you tell me in the common room, watching Dorcas leave.

I roll my eyes.

 _She has a nice arse._ You tell me as if it wasn't blatantly obvious from your first comment. It makes me laugh, though, and forget about the transfiguration homework that I'm failing at.

I walk into the common room one night to find a stag, a dog and a rat. The rat is sat on the stag's antlers and the dog looks very much like it's trying not to laugh, if it were possible for dogs to do that. They all freeze when they see me, and the next thing I know, you're sat on the floor where the dog had been crying with laughter, and Peter's sat on James' head.

There's never a boring moment, you see.

James comes in one night, blood bursting out of every vein on his skin and I know who it is the second I see it. His hair is plastered to his forehead with red, and he collapses on the floor of our common room, and I'm crying. He's gasping and gasping and I nearly throw up from the sight of so much blood. I call Remus because I don't know what to do.

You all come down, because you never do anything, any of you, without the others.

We fix him up, Remus and I. Remus wants to be a teacher and I want to create potions, but that night we both become doctors. You all leave after I reassure you that I'll be fine, and I watch James as he sleeps.

His hair isn't as dark as yours, but it's still dark. It's so many different shades of brown that it's hard to look at in detail. His eyes look smaller without the glasses on, and he looks so peaceful when he sleeps. His hand _fits_ and I almost have a breakdown.

 _I like James Potter._

Three weeks into school again, and James' parents are killed. It's some Deatheater ( _deatheater, what a stupid name. Prongs, have you seen this? They've called themselves deatheaters. What a bunch of twats)._ He doesn't get put in Azkaban for it, and you cry almost as much as James. It takes that for me to realise that I care about James a lot more than I'd cared to admit.

James and I are on patrol a week later when he does it.

 _There's a war on,_ he tells me.

We're ducked behind a wall, hiding for no reason other than we want to, as a group of second year Slytherins walk past. It's snowing, and for some reason, that feels important.

 _I know_. I reply.

 _This is the last time, Lilyflower._ His voice is quiet, and I have to move closer to hear. I know I frowned, and Sirius, I know I wondered if you knew what he was doing. _I don't want to annoy you anymore, but there's a war on._ There's silence for a couple of beats, _my parents are dead, and I don't want that to be the reason why, but._ He breaths in, and my heart has never beat so fast.

A piece of snow lands on my cheek, and James brushes it off.

 _It hasn't been a joke for a year Lily._

I know what he's talking about, and he knows I know but I want to hear him say it. It's funny. He's said it so many times before, but this is the first time I _know_ he means it. His hands are sweating and his hair is scruffy from him messing it up so many times and I smile.

 _I know,_ I tell him.

We're still crouched behind a stupid wall, and there's no space between us and you've heard this story a thousand times and probably told it a thousand more. You're our biggest fan, Black.

 _You know._ He repeats, and I nod. _I sort of love you, Evans._ He says. _But not if you don't. If you don't love me back, this was a dare from Sirius._

 _That's alright,_ I say, mouth threatening to burst its seems from how hard I'm smiling, _because Marlene dared me to say it back._

He kisses me then, and you won't want the details but I'll give them to you anyway like I have a thousand times before.

His lips are soft and he cups my cheek. His hand roams into my hair, and he pulls me impossibly tighter. His glasses bang my nose and I laugh. He falls into the snow, and gets it in his hair, and we're both laughing, and I felt like I was on top of the world.

There's a war on.

There's a war on, and people are dying, and dead.

There's a war on, and James Potter just kissed me and I didn't care.

There's a war on, and I liked it.

There's a war on, and it's snowing and Marlene hugs me, and James squeezes me closer, and Remus laughs, and Peter claps James on the back, and Mary squeals and Dorcas grins.

There's a war on, and all you do, Sirius Black, is smile.

 _you owe me twenty galleons,_ you tell James.

 _What's it for this time?_ I question you, and you smile that smile you have that means you know _everything_ when you really don't.

 _I knew you'd give in by the time it got to a thousand._

There's a war on, and my parents are killed a month later, two days after they first meet James. You were there too, in your leather jacket, but this time James carries the flowers. They were there to get me, I tell you the first night back in Hogwarts. They were there to get me.

You nod. There's no denying it.

On the first of January, I become an orphan. At seventeen years old, I become an orphan with a sister who disowns me the first chance she gets. I show up to her wedding anyway, and laugh as you and James piss Vernon off to the point that he turns purple.

In seventh year I lose a family, and gain one.

I gain three brothers and a boyfriend who loves me. I gain three sisters and lifelong friendship.

On the day of my graduation, I look at you, and you wink. Remus smiles, and Peter nods. Mary waves, all excited, and Marlene hugs me too tight. I promise Dorcas that we won't lose touch. James plasters himself to my back and asks me to move in with him. Being friends with Sirius Black is like being friends with James Potter. It's the best thing in the entire world.

I nod.

Six months later, he proposes. Its extravagant, as expected. You laugh the second he gets down on one knee, and my eyes keep drifting from his face to yours because you're doing it too loudly. Remus hits you in the stomach to shut you up, and Marlene scowls at him.

I cry when I say yes. (You do too).

James comes with me to ask Remus to give me away, and I go with him to ask you to be his best man.

James wraps a strand of my hair around his finger when I play cards, now. _This is what my wedding ring will look like,_ he tells me. He fiddles with the engagement ring when he holds my hand, and you watch us fondly.

James still presses kisses into every area of my face he can reach, and you still tell him to stop being a sap. You threaten him to never hurt me, and then threaten me to never hurt him. I kiss your cheek and tell you I love you. James does the same, to take the piss.

Your hair is still black, and it still needs a haircut. You drive a motorcycle and our neighbours hate you for it, because you rev the engine too much. You like your coffee like your women (Strong, with just a hint of sugar), and you drink too much beer. I worry about you nearly as much as I worry about James.

I'm nineteen and engaged to an idiot. I'm nineteen and you are taller than me. James calls me Lilyflower and you call me Red, and I have given the two of you more nicknames than could ever be counted.

Remus stays the night twice a month. All three of you do. I've set the spare room up for you, I'm so used to it. James says I don't have to, but I do. Your my family just as much as you are his. Besides, Remus has been my friend when he hasn't been yours.

 _I'm the black sheep of my family._ You tell me one night. _Get it?_

You're drunk and you think I don't know.

You're making jokes so that you don't fall apart again, and you think I don't notice. You fall asleep on my side of the bed next to James. You look so similar you could be brothers. His hair is a curly mess where yours is straight, and his eyes are light where yours are dark. He has a dimple, and you have none. You scowl and he laughs and you're so similar you're two peas in a pod, but you're nothing alike.

We get married on a Wednesday, me and James. I wear white, and my hair is curled down my back. We have the reception in James' childhood house, which is far too fancy for us and our simple needs but just perfect for our wedding. You, Remus, Peter, Marlene and Dorcas decorate the house and Mary sorts the food out. Alice Longbottom makes the cake, and I haven't seen her since she left Hogwarts.

 _Evans?_ You ask me. _I bet you that you don't go through with this._

 _Black?_ I respond, _you're so full of shit it's a wonder your legs can hold you._

You laugh and you sound so relieved that it worries me. After all this, these nearly eight years we've known each other and you think I'll bail now? You think I'm the type of person to bail at all?

You hug me, as well, before you leave to stand at the altar beside James. You tell me I look beautiful and that James and I were perfect for each other and that you're glad I finally got my head out of my arse and said yes.

Remus walks me down the aisle, and makes me promise to eat too much cake and to always be happy. I kiss his cheek, and he pulls me close. Peter shoots me a smile from his position behind you, and you will never know how happy it makes me that James' friends accept me. You cry when I tell James _I do,_ and we tease you about it later.

You always were our biggest fan.

Marlene gives a ridiculous speech that has us all crying with laughter, and you counter it with one which has so many deer puns that everybody ends up confused. You end it with:

 _A lot of you may think she hated him._ You look directly at me, _nah, she didn't._

It's something you've begun saying, now that we're in the order and people who knew us at Hogwarts ask. You seem to pop out of nowhere just to explain that I didn't really hate James. I can assure you, I did. It's just a (very) fine line between love and hate.

James and I had been married for a under a year when it happens.

I'm only just twenty years old, and you come in to find me crying.

I'm hysterical and you can't make sense of what I'm saying. If I'm honest, I don't know what I was trying to say. My hair was a mess, thrown into a messy bun and you didn't look much better. You kept asking for James, and I kept shrugging, telling you he'd already left. He was on some late shift, guarding something for the Order that only him and Sirius and your little Mad-Eye Moody defence squad knew about.

 _Red, Evans what's wrong?_

I remember correcting you weakly. _Potter. I'm a Potter._

And I was. My letters came to Lily Potter every week, and when people wanted me at work, they called me 'Mrs Potter', or Dr. Potter. I'm a Potter and I'm so goddamn proud of it, but it shouldn't be happening like this.

You grip my elbows and steer me to the bed. I'm shaking and crying and hysterical and you look so frightened. _What's happened? Has something happened to James? You and James are okay? Red, please tell me Prongs is okay?_

I was nodding and shaking my head all at the same time.

It hurts, you see. To want something so bad and then not be able to have it. I tell you this, and you look even more confused.

 _I'm fine._ I tell you, and you've known me for nearly half my life and you know I'm lying. I've told you _I'm fine_ so many times before that you know when it's a lie and you know when to press and when to not say anything.

 _No you're not._ You tell me and I nod. You're right, of course I'm not. I'm hysterical, and I'm a mess. There is nothing about the situation that is alright. You ask me once more, and because you're you and I'm me, I tell you.

 _I'm pregnant._

You look genuinely happy. Like it's the best news you've ever heard. _Well, congratualtions!_ You're shouting, so animated and excited and it's like someone just tipped a bucket of freezing cold water over my head it hurts so much.

I shake my head, _no, Sirius, no._

You question me why I mean no, and I explain. _We're in a war,_ I tell you. We're in a war, and you think for some reason this means it's not James'. I tell you not to be so stupid. We're in a war, Sirius. We're in a war (and for some reason that is all I can repeat, until you tell me to stop. I say it once more anyway). We're in a war and I spend half the time hiding from death eaters and the other half wondering if James is going to come home. Not to mention you, and Remus and Peter.

A baby would be impossible.

 _We're in a war,_ you tell me right back. _We're in a war, and we all need a little bit of happiness._

I ignore you. You ask me if James knows and I shake my head, make you promise not to tell him. If James knows, he'll want to keep it.

I must have looked so pathetic, but for some reason, all I could think was _you're not as black as your name._ You're the thirteen year old boy who got me ice cream, and the nineteen year old boy who sung drunkenly as we danced our way down the thames, and the seventeen year old boy who bought a motorbike and enchanted it to fly. You're the twenty year old man who cried at my wedding, and who holds me now.

 _Do you want a baby?_

Yes, I want a baby. I want a baby like a fish wants the water. I want to do school runs and help it with its maths homework. I want to watch her cry over boys, and I want to help him think of ways to ask her out. I want to scream at them at two o'clock in the morning when they're drunk, and I want to hold them when they sleep. I want to laugh the first time they say the word _mummy_ and I want to tell them every day that I love them. I want to watch them grow up, and I want to be able to tell people that _they're mine. I made that person._

 _Lils._ You press me, and I nod.

 _Not like this,_ I whisper, hands pressed to my lips and chin wobbling.

You crouch in front of me and make me look you in the eye. _For what its worth,_ you tell me, _you and James would be wonderful parents._

Before you leave, I tell you again, just to make sure: _we can't keep him, Sirius._

You ask me how I know it's a boy, and I don't know how I know, I just do. You get this look on your face, Sirius, and I don't know if you realise how important that was in making a decision. You make me promise to talk to James, and I do.

James immediately starts picking out baby names and buying baby clothes and trying to rearrange a move back to his big childhood house. I find a smaller, more manageable house in Godric's Hollow, and we move in the following month. It's all so quick quick quick and suddenly I'm comparing baby notes with Alice Longbottom.

You don't know this, so I'll tell you. Our morning routines went like this:

 _We're not naming our kid Harrington, James. I don't_ care _if he won the Quidditch cup on two separate occasions. Hell, I don't care if he's somehow manged to invent a cure for morning sickness-_

With that, as I do every morning that James suggests a stupid name, I lean back over the toilet, and retch into it. Its like it happens on cue. Mention the morning sickness, and it'll stab you right in the womb.

James bites back a smile just as he does every morning, and picks up my hair to stop it from getting dirty. I'm shaking slightly, as I always am after I've been sick. James doesn't care, just shifts against the bath tub so I can lean against it more comfortably.

 _I don't know why we decided to keep you,_ I tell my stomach quietly. He's used to hearing such things. I told him every morning that I got morning sickness. You may scowl, Sirius, but you don't have to deal with it. Then, as has become routine, to James: _this is all your fault._

Like the smart, wisecracker James thinks he is, he replies with the ever original comment of _if ts my fault, maybe I should take the blame and name him as a punishment?_

 _We're not naming him Harrington, James. He'll be bullied._

But James doesn't care. James thinks Harrington is a great name. Surely, with uncles such as yourself and _Lily and James Potter_ as his parents, what could possibly go wrong?

James, as I remind him every day, is far too big headed for his own good. It's said with a fond smile and none of the smarminess James had been forced to grow used to during our time at Hogwarts, so it doesn't have quite the same affect.

James gets me my toothbrush when I ask him to. He also carries me to the sink and ignores my complaints, of which there are many even though we had this routine down to a T every morning). He talks to the baby while I brush my teeth; usually about random, irrelevant things and sometimes about the 'marauders' (he refuses to drop the name no matter how much I remind him that he is _twenty years old, James, for goodness sake_ and that _most_ children stop finding names for their friendship groups when they're in year four, to which James _always_ responds that you were a pack, not a friendship group. You will high five him, Remus will groan and Peter will look proud of himself and I will question what I married into.)

 _We were, uh, twelve. Lils, how old were we in second year?_

I speak around a mouthful of foam. _Twelve. Or thirteen._

James nods. _We were twelve._ I roll my eyes. _And some red-haired weirdo had just kicked my arse-_

 _James don't swear in front of Harr-_ I pause, _him._

James ignores me. He often does that, nowadays. _About being rude to your uncle Moony-_

- _uncle Remus-_

 _-uncle_ Moony.James repeats, like he has all the time in the world to be telling stories to our unborn child. He doesn't. He was late for work, just as he always was. _Because he's a nice mate and he deserved it. And me and the lads were talking- that's me and your uncles padfoot and wormy- and I came up with the idea of being animagus._

Of course he gives himself all the credit.

 _It was mostly a joke, but it worked. It happened. And now, I can do this-_

I blink, _James, don't you fucking dare-_

 _Don't swear in front of Harrington, Lils._ He reminds me, and then turns into a stag.

You have to understand, Sirius, that there was a bloody stag in my _bathroom._

At twenty years old, I was four months pregnant with a husband who turned into a stag at random moments, and a list of baby names that was utterly shit.

At twenty years old, you were fighting the battle that I was allowed to on my behalf. You came in battered most nights. Some weeks, you slept in the spare room four nights in a row, bruises blossoming on your forehead and scars on your cheeks.

You got a haircut. Something about regulation and I hated it. I told you I liked it, but I didn't. I hated how old it made you look. You've started winking again. James mentions the death eaters, and you make a joke, and wink. You don't get offended when no one laughs anymore. You don't even look surprised. The great Sirius Black, and this is what it has come to.

You've embraced your name again, proud of it. You hate where it comes from and you hate what it means but it's _yours._ You own it and you redefine it. You glare when someone mentions Regulus, but I know that the black scarf you pretend you got from a muggle charity shop is his, and I know that you still look for him amongst the names of the dead, or the imprisoned.

You come in crying one night, arm blistered open and bleeding, and you talk to James in hushed voices. James swears, and hits something and that's how I find out about the prophecy. _A boy born in July._

A month later, in July, Harry is born.

You swear up and down, encouraged by James who thinks I don't notice, that he's named after the very same Harrington who was the sole reason the English team made it to the Quidditch World Cup final in 1954.

Harry is tiny and perfect and has my eyes. He has a tuft of dark brown hair and eyes that squint. James gasps when he sees him, and I cry. My hands are full of a baby boy and you were right. The second I feel the weight of Harry in my arms, I know we're going to be fine. James tells you we want you to be Godfather, and you look as terrified as I feel. Marlene whispers in Harry's ear, and Peter looks like the world has just ended.

It's my favourite day in the entire world.

I'm twenty years old and I have a son, a husband and a brother.

You're twenty years old and have a best friend, a godson and a brother, and we love you.

You spend hours and hours playing with Harry. You and Remus take it in turns to get him to say your names, and Peter buys him far too many blankets, like he wants to wrap him up in them to protect him from the world. We have to tell him to stop in the end. On his 'anniversary of being a week old' you buy him a stuffed dog toy, and we name it _Snuffles._ Harry carries it everywhere with him.

Remus spends hours talking to Harry like he's an adult, and you spend hours trying to teach him to say rude words, even though he's not even one. Harry grabs your hair and bats at your hands when you try to show him your motorbike. Remus laughs, and bounces him too high. Peter makes him a cake every month, like he's trying to prove something, and James and I sleep.

Marlene and Remus babysit him on the second Thursday of every month- providing it's not a full moon- and James and I go to watch a film, or have dinner or just relax. You come round every Saturday and you spend so much time in Harry's room that James suggests you just move in.

You and James still pull pranks, and I wake up to purple hair or salt on my cereal instead of sugar. Harry laughs, and you find an excuse to do more. You take harry to the local park and push him on the swings and everything, for three months, feels like it's going to plan.

On the 22nd of October, Marlene is killed, along with her whole family. They were on holiday. Supposed to be taking a break from the war.

Remus comes in crying to the order meeting, and everyone blames him. He's a _werewolf,_ everyone says. There's a traitor, and as the werewolf, it must be him. I don't think I've ever seen him that shaken up, and it makes me hate everyone who ever looked at him funny. He spends more time than ever with Harry, curled around him just talking. He stops when I walk in the room, and you _live_ with him, Sirius, now that Marlene's gone. You _live_ with him and doesn't it make you want to cry?

It takes Remus a month to remember how to not cry, and another two to work out how to smile. By Christmas, he's laughed. It feels like a miracle. I tell him about the breakthrough they've had at work about the Wolfsbane potion and he laughs. There may be something to make it not as bad. He laughs.

You get Harry a sweater with _Harrington_ on the back of it for Christmas, and Remus gets him a snitch to go with it. James sulks and complains that the best position on the team is a chaser, and you hit him and tell him it's a beater. Peter laughs and presents Harry with a tiny pet kitten. Harry chases it around the room, crawling after it until it finally gives in. Remus worries, but Harry is unusually gentle, stroking its soft head until they're both asleep on your chest.

You make James and I a photo album, and I cry when I flick through it.

We're attacked on two separate occasions between Christmas and Harry's birthday.

The first, we were in a muggle supermarket. They came out of nowhere, and I've never apparated so fast in my life. Before I knew it, I was clutching Harry in his bedroom, trying to stop him from crying and wishing to merlin that James makes it home. He comes in three hours later, weary and tired. He's battered, the marks of magic scarred deep into his bones but he smiles when he sees me and holds me tighter than he ever has before. He smells of sweat and pain and death, but I breathe it in deeply.

I don't want to forget what it feels like to be loved, Sirius.

I don't want you to forget either.

Dumbledore arrives the next day and tells us we need to find a secret keeper, and there was nobody better than you. You look worried when you come in.

I wonder, when I see you, when the lines around your eyes went from laughter to worry. I wonder when we all grew up.

Your hair is black, and your eyes are broken. We are twenty one years old and we are going to die. My hair is red and my eyes are shiny with tears. We are twenty one years old, and we are not going to survive. James' hair is black and his eyes are lost. We are twenty one years old, and we are going to die.

We chose you to be our secret keeper, and not two months later- after the second attack on us and the first on you- you convince us to change it to Peter. They wouldn't be expecting it, you said. Nobody would go to Peter because he's not the likely choice.

It's the first time I'd seen Peter in a few weeks when he walks in. It was just the four of us; James didn't want Remus to worry, and we couldn't trust anybody else. They do the magic, and our safety rests in the hands of Peter Pettigrew.

You get Harry a broomstick for his birthday, and he dons his Harrington sweater and chasers after the snitch Remus got him for Christmas. He breaks an ugly vase Petunia got me, and I laugh so hard tears stream down my cheeks. James gets drunk and does a strip tease, and I'm so thankful Harry is one and therefore unable to make lasting memories. You egg him on from the corner, singing along to the music far too loudly for our small house.

I bring out the cake I made, and everyone pretends to enjoy it. Dorcas falls into your kiss like it was meant for her, and I fall into James because he was meant for me. Remus watches and I know he's thinking about Marlene, so I tell him to stay the night.

When I wake up the next morning, he's gone.

Everything's falling apart. The world is ending and I don't want it to. I have a beautiful family and a one year old son that doesn't deserve to live in this world. Sometimes I wish we hadn't of had him. Sometimes I wish he didn't exist so I didn't have to worry about him aswell.

There's a third attack a couple of weeks before Halloween. They come while we're visiting Alice and her son, Neville. Frank and James and a couple of Aurors manage to fight them off, but we're all shaky. Harry cries the whole way home, and I smooth his hair out of his forehead like James did to me when I was pregnant and throwing up every morning.

My mother told me that when one world ends, another begins. In the ending of this world, Sirius, I know a better one will be made. Where dickheads like Voldemort, and his band of merry deatheaters don't exist and we do. We'll all raise Harry and I'll laugh until I cry and Remus will remember that smiling is something that can happen because Marlene will be back and Peter wont betray us.

The world doesn't end with fire or ice. It ends with a cold voice screaming words that no mother wants to hear. It ends with James screaming at me to _take Harry and run._

What he didn't expect was for me to be physically unable to do so. I couldn't leave him, Sirius. If James dies, I won't be able to continue. I'll be a shell. I won't be able to do anything.

We're twenty one years old, Sirius Black, and these are the things I know for certain.

I first saw you when I was eleven years old on a train station to join a world I lost my family for.

Your soul is not as black as your name. Your soul isn't black at all.

You shouldn't cut your hair.

James Potter is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Remus Lupin is a werewolf, but the nicest person I know. The two are in no way mutually exclusive.

Peter Pettigrew is the scum of the earth.

I love James Potter with my whole heart, and possibly my whole being.

James and I share mint choc chip ice cream, and you eat chocolate.

My name is not _lily,_ it is _Red,_ or _Lilyflower,_ or _Lils,_ or _Evans,_ or _Mrs Potter,_ or _Mummy._

I never got to hear my son's first words.

I am a witch.

You are over dramatic, and you wink when you're sad and you smile when you want to cry.

Your family are horrid, and for a minute I thought you were going to be just like them. I was wrong.

I am twenty one years old and I am about to die.

The world spins as it falls. It spins round and round and round and round until nothing exists but black. I'm pretty sure I bounce as I hit the ground. Head knocking off of the carpet and then back down. I should be scared. I am scared.

But not for Harry. He'll be fine, Sirius Black, because he has you.

Look after my son.

I first saw you across a train platform when I was eleven and you were still shorter than me. You won't remember, but you told me how to get onto the platform, whilst your mother scowled. _Run straight there¸_ you told me, and pointed. I don't know why I didn't tell you that you were insane. I would now, if I didn't know what I know.

"I'm Lily," I told you, "Lily Evans."

You swallowed, "Sirius Black."

What a world we lived in, Sirius Black. What a world we lived in.


End file.
